#2 October 1-10

October 1-9
While waiting for the biopsy appointment, I have another shot in my knee.  My knee is definitely feeling better although any attempt to walk at a normal pace will send pain signals that cannot be ignored. It’s getting better, it’s definitely getting better, oh God, please let it get better.

I continue to read everything I can about breast cancer. Knowing that I have a 5% chance of NOT having cancer buoys my hope a little.  I read a story about Rita Wilson, better known as Tom Hank’s wife and the creator of that fabulous monologue in “Sleepless in Seattle” about the movie “Love Affair.”  She had a biopsy which was negative, but chose to get a second opinion and cancer was found.  I start thinking that a second opinion might be a very good thing, no matter what the biopsy says. 

I begin to research breast cancer centers in my area and discover that there are two highly recommended in Chicagoland – Northwestern and the University of Chicago.  Northwestern is a good ways away from me, but the University of Chicago is only about 30 minutes (on a good day.) I check U of C’s website, and they even have a section on second opinions.  I call, make an appointment, get the appropriate releases signed, and feel so much better knowing that I have had this done.

Also during this time, I have another appointment with the podiatrist to tell him my foot still hurts, but cancer and knee pain have trumped it.  He agrees, gives me a little cushion to put on the top of my foot under my sock, and tells me to come back later in the year.

Finally BIOPSY DAY arrives.  My husband goes with me, even though he can’t go back into the room.  I manfully put on their little open gown, lie down on the table, and get another ultrasound.  The second ultrasound is to find exactly where the lump and the swollen lymph node are, so they can GPS them for the radiologist to get the biopsy.  They paint my breast blue – some sort of antiseptic?  At least 50% of my brain hard drive is full of song lyrics, I begin to mentally sing – “Blue boob, you saw me standing alone . . .”

The radiologist hits me with the lidocaine, I barely feel the prick. OH, I meant the needle, not the radiologist. This is a core needle biopsy with vacuum assist – sounds like a fancy car engine. The vacuum assist, of course, means I can say “This biopsy SUCKS!” He takes several samples. He then has to place a small titanium marker where he took the biopsy, so it can be seen again. Then he moves to the lymph node.  This time, no vacuum but a big, heavy snapping sound. I envision a tiny little guillotine snapping off pieces of my lymph node. Titanium marker is placed, and I am done.

It really wasn’t that bad. During the procedure, the nurses and technicians and I were talking and laughing just as if I wasn’t having parts of my body sucked up and cut off.  However, after the biopsy procedure was finished, I tried to stand up, and found that the lidocaine had really done a number on me.  I was trembling too much to stand by myself. 

The staff was very helpful, got me some water to drink, let me calm down a bit, and then I HAD TO HAVE ANOTHER MAMMOGRAM!  Oh yeah, after my breast has had pieces cut and vacuumed, now they want to squish it again!  AAAARRRRGGGHHH!

OK, I'm better now. The mammogram was to make sure that the small titanium markers were in place. Everything showed up, so I was able to have a dressing applied, put my clothes on, and leave. 

Now the wait.

For some reason, the hospital has decided that the results of my biopsy will be shared with my PCP, and then she will share them with me.  Since the biopsy was done on a Friday, the results may not be ready until possibly Thursday.  I make an appointment with my PCP for Friday a.m. hoping all will be revealed at that time.

Friday night, I sit with an ice pack on my chest, but I don’t feel too bad, just swollen.  I’m pumped though because we have tickets to see “A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder” on Saturday, and I have been waiting for this a long time. 

I’m still walking slower than normal, and decide I better take my cane with me on the trip downtown. We are taking the train which is about half a mile from the theater, so I might need some assistance.  Good thought.  The weather is the coolest it has been, and the “windy” in Windy City has shown up in spades. 

I was able to walk to the restaurant for lunch and to the theater with no pain as long as I walked very slowly. Of course we had tickets for the balcony, so then there were stairs.  I forgot everything when the show began though.  What a wonderful musical!  I laughed so much – all the other problems were gone. 

When the show was over; however, I remembered I had a knee.  As I slowly, one step at a time, retreated from our seats, I heard the usher say, “You just take your time, honey. Don’t let anybody rush you.”  I think she was actually being supportive, but I didn’t turn around to look at the faces behind me.

By the time I managed to get to the train station, we had just missed the train, so we had about 30 minutes to wait which was good, since the weather was so bad walking back.  I would have thought it was raining, but actually the wind was whipping mist from Lake Michigan (six blocks away) into our faces.

The next day, the bruising on my breast had eclipsed the blue antiseptic, by Monday it was a lovely shade of green. “Green boob, what’s that secret you’re keeping?” Sorry, the song lyrics just keep coming.

Tuesday, I had my third and final knee shot.  My knee was much better than it had been, and as the days passed after the third shot, it began to feel more and more normal.  By the time my bruising had passed into the yellow phase “Yellow boob, up high in banana tree. . .” I could get up and walk across the room without thinking about being careful. 

We attended the theatre again seeing a musical adaptation of “October Sky” which was really well done. This could be a contender, particularly if they restage it for proscenium (we saw it in the round.)  All these distractions keep my mind from running forward to Friday when I get the biopsy results. I try to keep busy, but the curtain slips open occasionally, and I am staring down the long road of surgery, chemo, radiation . . . nope, don’t want to think about that right now.

Eventually Friday arrives.  I get ready, my husband goes with me. I sit in the waiting room, my heart is pounding.  They finally call my name and have the nerve to take me to the scale first.  I don’t even care what it says.  All I can think is “please let me be in the 5%.”

I warn the nurse if she’s going to take my blood pressure, don’t expect its usual low reading.  She does my pulse first and remarks that it’s rather high. “Really?” I say, “What could be causing that?  Could it have anything to do with the fact that I’m about to find out if I have BREAST CANCER?”  I don’t really say that. But I think it.

My blood pressure is higher than usual, although not in the danger zone. Nurse leaves. I wait.  Finally, after eons of time, the Doctor comes in. We go through the formalities, then she brings up the pathology report. 

There it is – Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.

I’m remarkably calm. I think I really suspected this would be the case since I found out about the BIRAD-5 designation. I pull out my handy, dandy pathology check list that I printed from breastcancer.org and begin to look at what kind of cancer it is. 

First I discover that it is Estrogen and Progesterone positive.  I know from my reading that this is good.  It is also HER2 negative – another good thing.  My lymph node has come back with metastatic carcinoma consistent with breast primary – not good. I actually understand the pathology report better than my PCP. The tumor is Grade 3 – not good.   Based on my reading, I estimate it as Stage II, but my PCP says they don’t stage it until after surgery.

I leave my PCP’s office with copies of the report, and I contemplate the next steps. First, I call the Nurse Manager who has been very supportive, and ask what’s next.  She gives me the number of the receptionist who books the oncologist and surgeon. When I call, I find that I can get an appointment with the oncologist for the 14^th, but because we have already booked a flight to Texas to see the daughter and her family, I can’t see the breast surgeon until the 22^nd.  That just happens to be the same day that I have my second opinion appointment, but that’s OK.  We’ll just get it all done quickly.

I try to look for the positives.  According to my reading, if I have to have a mastectomy, and do breast reconstruction, they take the additional fat for the recon from your stomach.  Hey – a tummy tuck that my insurance will pay for!

No one but my husband knows about this yet. I didn’t want to put others through the waiting game, but now that I know it’s cancer, it’s time to talk.  I had contemplated waiting to tell my daughter until we got to Texas, but I didn’t want the trip to be all about breast cancer, I tell her over the phone. She takes it as well as possible, and the next day, I tell my son and his wife.  After that, I call and email good friends and relations. Everyone is supportive, kind and thoughtful.

When my daughter-in-law’s father gets the news, he calls and tells me “You are the strongest woman I know.”

See what I said about being a badass?